


white streak

by batwngs



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batwngs/pseuds/batwngs
Summary: a collection of short pieces featuring jason todd





	1. morning dew

**Author's Note:**

> these short pieces were requested on my tumblr
> 
> if you would like, feel free to request one as well! [prompt list](http://www.batwngs.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts)

The sun filtered through the curtains, extending its warm hand to nudge Jason out of his slumber. He didn’t want to be dragged from his place under the covers, but the birds chirping their sing-song melodies said otherwise. Jason rises from the bed, turning to realize you weren’t away in your dreams. He got up from the cloud-like bed, his feet landing on the cold flooring. The apartment was oddly silent with only the sounds of a summery morning forcing its way in through the windows. 

Upon exiting the bedroom, he noticed a figure hunched over the small round dining table. A fiery red book rested on the table with the ivory pages of poetry in your hand. _Neruda_. Jason remembers how dearly you adored the poems when he read them to you. The poems are lucky to have your gentle eyes rest upon its words. The window was open allowing the sun pour into the room, the curtains billowing with the morning breeze and early sun gracing your skin. You looked angelic as the sun’s gentle light painted a warm and bright halo around you, the curtains acting as your wings. Not even Neruda could capture your divine, dizzying beauty; no poet, no photograph, no artwork could ever encompass your glowing soul. All Jason could do was stand leaning against the doorframe and stare at the heavenly love that graced his eyes, his morning, his life.

He’s not sure what he did to deserve this piece of heaven at the dawning of the world. Every day, every minute, felt like a blessing to be spent with you. With or without wings, being in your presence feels like a dream; yet, this is as real as the sun is shining on you, as real as his heart is beating violently against his chest at the thought of you. 

The sound of toast jumping out of the toaster dragged him away from his thoughts. You had gotten up to retrieve the light breakfast you prepared and finally noticed Jason’s presence within the room. “Good morning, love,” you said with a silvery voice so honey-sweet and doused with love that Jason felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“You okay, Jason?” concern slowly entering your voice. 

“Of course,” Jason responded as a genuine smile graced his face. “I have you.”


	2. balcony

The ballerinas flew elegantly across the stage as the familiar and haunting music filled the theatre. Swans in unison danced as if it they yearned for flight. Vibrant lights immersed the stage and audience with a deep red, commanding their eyes to remain on the performance with their breathes halted. 

The stage, however, was a world away from the darkened box seats you and Jason were seated in. The two of you were in a world of your own making. You peppered kisses along Jason’s jawline as you sat on his lap. The evocative red glow doused Jason in similar shades as your hand made home in his dark locks, his hands similarly finding solace in yours. His gentle feverish touches felt electric on your skin, just as your kisses blazed fire hot on his neck. 

Jason grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. You looked soul-stirring and radiant with your hair tossed, your lips swollen and lipstick smudged, your hand in his. Glittering, darkly, and tempting, you pulled at his heart with a simple touch. Planting hushed and secretive kisses upon your burning soft skin felt like a sin. He moved to share a kiss against your earlobe, whispering something almost unintelligible against your skin just as the waves of audience members stood and applauded the ballerinas on stage. 

_Siegfried was a fool to not love you._


	3. night light

The thunderous night creates a stir in Jason’s dreams. The echoes of thunder roaring sounded far too familiar for comfort. He was tossing and turning in his slumber, attempting to fight off the terrors that held an unforgiving grip. 

He finally wakes up violently shaking at the crack of lightning. Everything was dark, yet all he could see was a crowbar swinging towards him, all he could hear was that maniacal laugh. His chest was so tight he couldn’t breathe, weighing heavy with the blood that filled his lungs and ears. He felt sick, beads of sweat lining his shaking skin. He didn’t know where he was and he was petrified, unable to move from the blurred yet painfully vivid sights that plagued his view. He wanted to scream, to cry out, to fight back, but there wasn’t a voice, leaving him shaking in the face of the cruel dark. 

And then a light appeared. You spoke words that were hard for Jason to hear, but your presence alone was comforting. He felt your gentle touch slowly begin to still his rapid heartbeat, the taste of blood slowly leaving his mouth. Your whispers of honey were a lighthouse, guiding him through the unsafe waters of the dark, reminding him to breathe, reminding him nothing could hurt when he’s in your arms. Jason felt waves of calm wash over him as you warded off the dark. His cruel and deafening darkness withered away under your touch, unmatched and unparalleled by your light.


	4. astronomy class

The air in the room was thick and muggy, reaching unbearably hot for the summer night. Jason and you laid in bed, your backs pressed against the mattress, as you both searched for sleep. The sounds of buzzing from the fan filled the room with occasional tires screeching against the relatively silent streets. You had opted to stare at the brilliant stars, the cheap glow in the dark plastics that were pasted to the ceiling. The iridescent green stars reminisced and yearned to be real, burning and distant; yet, they were real as they mapped out stories and myths and existences for you and Jason in the early hours of the coming morning. 

With your eyes and mind so fixed on the stars above, you wondered aloud, “What do you think is in-between stars?” 

Jason didn’t fully grasp the words you spoke. His gaze was locked on you rather than the green stars. Even at such an hour, passion remained stationary and fiery in your eyes and words. He could see voyages amongst the vast celestial sea within your eyes, wings and balloons carrying you across the stellar waves leading you to the heavens. You could talk for hours on anything—Fermi’s paradox, black holes, and alternate universes—but Jason’s thoughts will always wander to that of you. 

“What are you looking at me for?” you questioned Jason playfully, a lightness mixed with curiosity laced in your voice.   
He felt his heart skip a beat at the sudden question. There was a lighthearted and caring smile splayed across your tired face. As his heart melted through his ribs and somehow into his veins, Jason softly said, “You’re looking up there like the secret of the universe isn’t in your eyes.” 

From your eyes alone, one could tell love resided in between stars.


	5. redamancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _redamancy: a love returned in full; the act of loving the one who loves you_

Jason’s not good with words.

Despite the plethora of books he's held before in between his hands, Jason had always struggled with voicing his feelings. The words just remained trapped in his heart and lungs, in between his veins and never reaching light. Each page of his well-read books were underlined and highlighted with the words he wished to say: “I have love in me.” “I admire and love you.” “I love you still—”

The shadow of the growing pile of books stood tall upon the wooden dining table, enveloping your leftover chocolate cake. The crumbs that had fallen off the dessert dotted one side of the pristine ceramic as your fork scraped the surface and picked at the bits of chocolate, avoiding the larger, neighboring slice. There was only so much you could do to pass the time. You placed your fork on the edge of the white plate. The lone light of the chandelier above you made the late-night dismal.

Sounds from the bedroom erupted the silence of the apartment. You heard the moon-kissed window slide open and shut from where you sat at the dimly lit table. It must have been Jason coming back from being the infamous Red Hood. He always comes back.

After some minutes—what felt like years to you—Jason entered into you line of sight wearing a grey t-shirt and the pair of sweatpants he always opted to wear after a shower. He pulled a chair out next to you and inched his legs closer to yours, the chandelier dowsing his figure in a goldish-yellow hue and heavy shadows, half here and half not. As he faced your direction, his eyes boring into yours in attempt to read them, you noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. The corners of his eyes had hints of red and the bags below his eyes were colored darker. His auburn eyes looked as if they were going to spill, his heart trapped behind there. His youthful features looked tired with an aching beyond his years.

Jason grabbed the abandoned fork off the corner of the plate and dug it into the layers of cake. In seconds, a large portion of the decadent chocolate was gone. But just as you thought he was going to devour another piece of the limited cake, the fork was hovering over your lips. His eyes looked as if they meant to say ‘please, this is for you’. You opened your mouth to let in the chocolate, its velvet sweetness melting on your tongue. As you chewed your piece of cake, you saw the hidden yet soft smile that graced Jason’s face while he looked down at the small plate that held the delectable cake. Seeing him with such a honeyed smile stirred butterflies in your heart. You took the fork from his calloused fingers to cut into the cake, the silver of the utensil glimmering against the rich color of the chocolate; lifting the fork weighted with the darkened gold of the dessert, you carried it towards Jason’s lips. His hand reached for yours, guiding the fork to his own mouth, with your hand in his, where he gratefully accepted the bite, that sugarcoated smile extending to his eyes as he enjoyed the cake.

You snickered and grinned at the how comical he looked: a smile that could stop the world with an assortment of messy crumbs decorating the corners of his lips. Moving your seat closer towards Jason’s, your hand went to clean the bits of chocolate but found its place along Jason’s skin. Even after the scraps of cake had been long forgotten, your fingers lingered on his rough yet delicate skin. You could feel his slow and cautious breathing tickle your thumb as it lay at the curve of his lips. The pads of your fingers burned upon the feel of his skin. Electrifying and numbing and blistering. ‘What did my fingers do before it touched his skin?’ you thought. ‘What did my heart do?’

Jason moved his hand to meet yours. He brought the palm of your hand to his lips and placed chocolate kisses along your skin.

Jason’s not good with words, but in this moment, with the soft light of the chandelier glistening in his eyes and his lips learning and relearning the map of your hand, you knew all the words he wished to say.


	6. elmosolyodni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _elmosolyodni: to slowly break out into a genuine smile when being overcome with emotions, like love or utter happiness._

The city’s light was bright and vivid. A haze lay over Gotham, grazing against the darkened horizon with its warm radiance. The sun was long gone by now, its warmth echoed within the streets and high-rises that colored the skyline. Swirls of yellow and orange peppered the earth, synthetic stars glistening down below. Short-lived and buzzing, the iridescent sea of fiery suns sparked the city into new life.

Jason sat at on the edge of the familiar building as he leaned against the stone gargoyle that overlooked the beautiful but damned city. The white-blue glow of his phone reached up to touch his skin, illuminating his features more than the moon or the city’s distant yellow lights could have. He found himself scrolling through his photos and videos, all of you. Countless of images with your smile shining bright against the red of roses, your nose scrunched in frustration over an assignment, your face enlightened by the sun’s crisp warmth as you read his books.

Jason adventured through dozens of photos from the past, all which seemed like light-years away. He landed on a photo of you and him, both caked in flour as the light of the day seeped through the window in the background. Jason was looking off in the opposite direction of the camera with a bowl and wooden spoon in hand. He was too busy trying to make breakfast after what had been a flour toss. You had taken his phone behind his back to capture this moment. Although the kitchen looked like a warzone, the gleam in your eyes and the crease of your skin around the corner of your lips told otherwise. Even with the flour that embellished your face and powdered your hair, you held the camera up to your remarkable and beaming smile that rivaled only the rebellious sun. 

He swiped his thumb across the screen recalling memory after beloved memory, until he came across a video with the images blurred as they moved into a flurry of soft greens and greys and blues. 

March 23rd, Jason remembered. It was a nice day for a picnic. He could still feel the cool air rubbing against his lungs with remnants of frost from the thawing winter and the earthy smell of trees and ferns and nature—spring was yet to be reborn. The grass weighed heavy with the morning’s dew. The sky was grim with grey and thunderous clouds having enveloped the sun, unable to be seen by the world. A dense fog was rolling through the hills. The frigid river rolled through the dull green of the grass, the water unwilling to let go of the ice from the dying winter. Jason remembered how you wanted to go out on such a gloomy day for a picnic—only you could have seen the life in such a melancholic atmosphere. You danced and laughed against the gloom, twirling and giggling as the wind tossed your hair to match your movements. You would wander dangerously close to the camera of his phone to feed Jason from the picnic basket, leaving only your hauntingly mesmerizing eyes in view, before you would distance yourself with chuckles erupting throughout your entire being. One glimpse into your eyes and one would know where the stars go once the sun rose. Your voice on the video was a sweet melody, bringing to life the colors of nature. Cupid’s arrows pierced his heart with such voracity at every word you muttered, laughed, whispered that Jason felt the wounds bleeding within his chest. He only looked at you, the beautiful scenery and the cool touch of the river forgotten. The light in your eyes, the smile on your lips was more precious to him than all the sights in the world.

Jason felt the prick of warmth in his eyes, a deafening feeling rising from his chest to his throat. No matter how much he fought against the tearing pain ripping at his throat, the burn and sting of tears threatened to spill. Yet, the corner of his mouth slowly lifted as an undeniable grin broke through the onslaught of downpour. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

He brought one of his hands up to his face, as if to conceal his smile, to physically hold back his hesitant tears. He chuckled as he felt the reluctant tears reach his chin, his eyes still fastened to the video playing on his phone. It was you. Smiling, laughing, breathing; as if there was no care left in the world, as if there was no tomorrow. Living beyond that moment and into his dreams. The glow of the city, the glow of life—fleeting in time and eternal in memory. 

_You looked so happy._

With a swift stroke against the edge of his phone, the video replayed with its eager greens and soft greys and rapid blues. The movements of your delighted and free form along the wet grass of that day moved Jason’s heart. You paused in your ebullient dancing to call Jason’s name, the growing fog of distant memories seeping around your ankles. He closed his eyes just as his name fell off your tongue and let the tears fall freely. 

He never noticed how dark the city was.


	7. retrouvailles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**retrouvailles** : the happiness of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation_

“Here’s your coffee.”

Jason set his book down on the dainty, yet unsteady, metallic table just as the waiter placed the cup of coffee carefully in front of him. The paper cup stood in stark contrast to the near-wooden color of the table. 

“Thanks,” Jason said to the waiter, flashing a short, yet kind smile towards him.

He took a sip of his coffee. Hot, he thought—scorching almost—much like Gotham during the late summer months. The sun was blazing bright, leaving blistering kisses along his skin. Even the rare breeze felt of fire. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to move or relocate somewhere indoors. Despite all her fire, all her dirt, Gotham in the day was a sight: the streets coming to life as a finely tuned orchestra, the ever-shifting mass of different peoples with different stories and different tales that flowed through the city like waves of a provocative sea. It was a blend of senses that carried you until you forgot who you were. He had always loved the light though, how it filled the air like it was something living, how it washed their masks from their faces of civilians and left them vulnerable to the world to see, unable to hide in the shadows of alleys. The light would paint gray hairs into gold, smooth the fabrics of clothing into something refined and gleaming, cascade over fine lines and furrowed brows, lifting any sign of weariness from the souls of the city, until they walked into the chilling shadows of Gotham. Even though it’s not anything special, it’s something beautiful to witness, to be a part of.

Every street corner echoed the past with the aged architecture and shined painfully bright as the sun’s light crashed into its corners. The shaded alleys still reeked of spoiled food and iron. The vendors and storefronts still sold the same goods—the same designer bags, the same artisan breads, the same-old shoes. The gargoyles perched up top the elaborate skyscrapers held the same glare at the changing sky. At night, he remembered, sitting next to the gargoyles was like watching a new sun rise. The lights of the streetlamps and police sirens glistened in the distance, awakening a different Gotham that called for him, that needed him. But that was back then, before he died, back when Gotham was his. 

Jason held on to the cup, burning so hot that he felt his fingerprints might sear away. _Will it ever be the same?_

As he glanced around the street corner, he spotted a familiar blur. A vast crowd of people stood at the corner across the street from where Jason sat—all walking, talking, standing, breathing. It was hard to tell who or what made this person in the distance so familiar, why they left a memory knocking at the door of his mind. There wasn’t anything particularly special about their appearance. The stranger looked tired; signs of wear written so clearly on their face as they stood waiting for the lights to change. Their clothes were nothing fancy: cheap and simple fabrics that were, in-fact, bland and wasn’t too flashy nor eye-catching; then again, there wasn’t really anything eye-catching about their appearance. They didn’t have this air of arrogance or importance, like some Gothamites held. They just stood there, a normal person reading some normal news on their normal phone, tuning out the world and blending into the shadows. They had moved ever so slightly, however, out from the buildings shadow and into the sun as they waited and waited, the sun hitting their face in a way that dowsed them in a golden light that stopped time; and then the memories came rushing in, waves breaking against the muddy, sandy shores.

Jason hadn’t seen you in years. You looked different—older and wiser, the youthful cheeriness that was a constant upon your face hardly noticeable anymore. You looked like a new person, but the remnants of your younger self were still there under the radiant sun. 

He was always fond of you. Back then, he was always excited to go to school, even more excited to see you. He remembered walking through the parks of Gotham after school, talking endlessly about everything and nothing, laughing the day away as the sun slowly enveloped the city in darkness. He remembered sitting in your room and taking in the sight: the posters that adorned your walls, the aged desk in the corner stacked with textbooks and papers, the wooden chair where you sat, notebook and pencil in hand, as you quizzed him on historical events and figures. He remembered writing your name in his geometry notebook during class instead of listening to the lesson, the letters of your name fitting so gracefully in between the mathematical equations. _[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N]_ —it was the greatest poem he had ever read, ever written. Letter after precious letter, coming together to form the most harmonious of words, a mantra of some sort, a bewitching spell. Not even the great poets of the past have seen, or could have written, such a poem so eloquent. He could still remember your smile. Your smile was enough to shatter universes, cease time from ticking forward. Brighter than any star in the sky, more beautiful than any setting sun on a lake, your smile after Jason’s jokes always made his heart come alive to a chorus of beating wings. You had held his heart through it all and you didn’t even know it. How much brighter has your smile grown, Jason wondered, how much more radiant? How beautiful your laugh must be now. It made him feel better to see you, to know that not all of his past was buried and left abandoned.

He could easily get up from his seat and say hello. He could run across the street, before the lights change, abandoning his coffee on one of the pristine tables of the coffee shop. He could run towards you, accidentally bump his shoulders into yours like the two of you were in school again. He could take off his sunglasses and hat—coming out from the shadows to feel the sun, like honey, stick to his skin—to look into your eyes and beckon ‘remember me’. He could see your eyes light up with excitement when he tells you he’s Jason Todd, the small boy from school all those years ago; watch as you break into a smile as you recall all those treasured moments of the past. He could catch up with you, talk endlessly on various topics like a day hasn’t passed since. He could hear your sweet laugh again, see your precious smile again.

But he was dead now. You would look at him not with excitement or joy, but with question, with horror, with disgust. You would scream ghost and all he would do is run away to the grave from which he came. He was supposed to be dead after all.

At the change of the lights, you crossed the street, walking further and further away from Jason. He leaned back into his metal chair. His past walked off into the bustling city of Gotham’s lunch crowd, growing distant and distant until finally out of sight.

For how much longer can he sit and stare as his past, present, and future slip away from his grasps like light passing through a curtain? The world moves past him and all he can do is watch: watch as people hold hands and stroll down the street without a care in the world, laughing and smiling at the ones they love; watch as these people share conversations with one another over dinner, feeling the love fill their senses and drown themselves with its warmth as they take a bite; watch as you walk away, never knowing that he was there or that he was thinking of you. A single thought rang through Jason’s mind: _Can I only have love from a distance?_ Is he doomed to remain on the other side of the street, watching and dreaming of what could have been, what may never be? Is he trapped in the shadows of a cold and ghostly world, unable to reach the light? He himself can’t speak, touch, or love; for all the world knows, he doesn’t even feel the air in his lungs. The door is always locked for him, he can only look in and see the love he can’t feel.

Jason didn’t dare take another sip of his coffee. It was too bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> these stories and others can be found on my tumblr: batwngs
> 
> if there are any formatting errors please let me know! comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!


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